Chronicles of Chaos

February 12, 2007 | Print

And then I went to the gym and fell off the treadmill

Michael’s on a business trip. Last night, I feed, bathe and tuck the kids into bed. I go to bed around 10:30. At 3 am, Amelia hollers, “Moommmyyy!!” from her bedroom.

I get to her room somehow. She has a raging head cold. She’s wide awake.

She wants to sleep in the tent her grandparents set up in her room yesterday during the grandparent visit where they provide wonderful toys that later create a series of debates, arguments and tantrums between children and parents.

I say no because I think tent means no sleep which means bad head cold/cranky child.

I get back in bed. Five minutes later she’s moaning. When the moans get really loud, I return.

She can’t sleep. I tell her colds are uncomfortable and I’m sorry she’s sick. The humidifier’s bubbling in the corner of her room, her head’s propped up on pillows, just close your eyes and rest, I tell her.

I get back in bed. I hear Oliver cooing in his bed. I smother my ears with a pillow.

Some moments later, Amelia’s yelling again. I go back to her room.

When she closes her eyes she sees scary things and sad things. I ask what kind of sad and scary things. She won’t elaborate. I return with 3 tablets of Children’s Tylenol. She accepts this solution, for the moment.

I get back in bed. Oliver’s complaining by now. I coach myself about not responding to complaints as he may fall asleep on his own if I stop myself from barging into his room.

Then I hear Wyatt’s faint, but urgent, “Mommy.”

I go to his room. He tells me he’s all wet.

I send him to the bathroom to pee (if there’s anything left) and take off his PJs. I change his bed, examining various stuffed animals for dampness and/or smell. We get him into clean PJs.

As I head to my room, Amelia calls for one last complaint. I somehow console her.

I get back in bed. Oliver’s got a serious cry going. I get out of bed, go to his room/my closet, and nurse him. I notice he’s snuffly and obviously also getting sick.

I get back in bed. The clock says 5 am. I pray that everyone will sleep till 7.

At 5:55 Amelia pops into my room. She’s hungry.

I cannot get out of bed. I convince her to sit on a chair in the corner and look at photo albums for half an hour.

Then Wyatt gets up and we all go downstairs.

When the sitter arrives I throw sweats on and drive to the gym. I need to be alone out of the house. My plan is to walk on the treadmill.

I hang up my jacket and find a treadmill, as I climb aboard I discover the treadmill is on–meaning one minute I’m standing and the next my shins are slamming against the side of the machine.

A man runs over to help me (the people jogging on either side of me are oddly unimpressed with my fall–they seem to regard me as spectacle). With his help, I manage to climb to my feet and turn off the machine.

He asks me if I’m ok. I look at his concerned face watching me. My eyes start to sting with tears. I push them back with a strong smile, “I’m fine. Wasn’t that crazy? Thanks so much for helping me.”

Then I quickly look away. I climb on the treadmill and start walking. My shins throb with every step. But after a few minutes they don’t hurt as much and it feels good to move and I think in a few hours or days this could be a funny story.

Perhaps.

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